


The Mansion

by JoCarthage



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to a prompt from LJ First Class Kink meme: "Charles and Erik run a very high class prostitution ring with the mutants that they cultivate from all across the globe. Literally... make my icon a reality. Whether or not Charles and Erik are in a relationship is up to the author."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mansion

"There are very few places in this world where a woman can be blue, and a person," the improbably curvaceous silhouette said.

"Our establishment is one of them."

She slunk away from the door towards the narrow bed, hips swinging beneath her nearly-there mini-dress. She tapped the door closed with a strangely agile foot. The man leaning against the headboard squeezed his hands together, shivering in anticipation.

"How do you like our service so far, Mr. -?"

"J-Jones. John J-Jones."

She placed a slim hand on his suit-covered ankle and stroked lightly down to his instep.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones."

"I-I-I like it fine, thank you. I-I picked you out for your c-color; even if it is just an alloy i-it's-"

"Oh no, John, I'm all real."

She crawled up the bed using muscles in places no human had, trailing her hand up his leg, across his hip and over his clenched hands. She leaned in close.

His hand released itself and raised up, patting her cheek and pulling away quickly as if testing for heat.

He took a rough breath, eyes wide. "Incredible."

But then he settled his hand back onto his stomach. She cocked her head at him--he stuttered:

"Y-You look beautiful. Uh, in, in your profile it mentioned you did, uh, um, impressions? Of people?"

"So what's it to be tonight, John: Marilyn?"

She took a deep breath, and began to shake herself--

"N-No, no. Not her. Not that she's not-no. I was hoping--"

He began fumbling in his pockets, pulling out what looked like a newspaper clipping. Before he could open it Mystique smiled:

"Ah, yes, of course Mr Jones. Jackie it is."

It was getting lighter outside, dawn beginning to glint on the New York snow, when the last "John" left The Mansion. Emma had already gone home, the last client's mind wiped of the specifics of their location. Hank sighed, shook out his shoulders and started to close up shop.

Front doors locked? He padded over, bare toes digging into the rich red carpet. Check.

Lobby clean? A few glasses scooped up and deposited in the kitchenette for rinsing. Check.

All rooms empty? Hank sprinted down the halls, glancing into each open doorway. Check.

Back in the lobby, Hank glanced at the office door to the right of the private hotel entrance. His final task of the night was to check in with the partners. With a last glance at his immaculate glass desk and black leather swivel chair, he walked towards their shared office.

He knocked on the deeply polished mahogany doors.

"What is it?"

Hank covered a smile: payroll night left Erik raw. He disliked numbers only slightly less than Charles's financial liberality.

"It's me--everything's squared away. Ready for the review?"

"Yes Hank, please come in," said a less testy voice.

Hank eased the door open, and stepped into a warmly lit room in deep reds, browns and yellows. The two men were seated in stylish office-chairs behind a massive dark-wood desk. Facing him across a small mountain of paperwork, they were penned in on one side by an Oliver typewriter and on the other stack of personnel folders a foot high.

"It was a relatively quiet evening." Hank began.

"Emma had no trouble with the regulars; a referral of Frankfurter's balked at the mind-wipe clause, but once we demonstrated on John he followed through. Mystique got two requests for ex-wives and one for Jackie Kennedy."

At this Erik snorted. Charles reproved him with a glance--their entire business was based on fulfilling uncomfortable, impractical, or impossible personal fantasies and none that was safe, sane and consensual deserved their derision--and nodded to Hank.

"Sean did his trick with the sonic vibrating toys for a group of co-eds, Alex added a Beach Boys song to his pole-routine, and Angel put in a request for a new kind of Aloe lotion."

Charles's glazed glazed brightened at this--Angel's attempts to get money out of them above her paycheck were always creative and entertaining.

"She says the leather is chaffing her wings and if she's doing 7 shows a week she needs 'to feel luscious and not like an elderly kumquat.'" Hank finger-quoted emphatically on that last part.

Erik grimaced, and waved his hand, saying:

"Ask her to price it out: if it seems a reasonable expense to you, do it. If not, tell her to ask Mystique to share whatever concoction she conned out of Charles last week."

 _"Conned"?_ Charles murmured in his mind.  _I am rarely "conned"_.  _Overly forgiving, open-minded to a fault, but "conned"? No._

 _Only by Raven_  Erik replied.  _She simply has your number my friend_.

Hank shuffled his feet, ready to head home to a hot tea, a warm bed, and a quiet LP.

"I think that is all--oh, wait. I nearly forgot. I was speaking with Mr. Rusk before his appointment with Emma's projection--" both men nodded, remembering that the man asked for "the safest sex possible" and his delight in learning that the woman he was paying was on the other side of a glass wall while he enjoyed himself.

"He mentioned that an acquaintance had taken up with a Chinese woman of negotiable virtue in San Francisco with the ability to manipulate water, as may be more relevant, high-water content fluid, in the most intriguing--" Hank coughed, then continued:

"I believe she may be one of us."

Charles leaned forward, tapping his pen on the table.

"Yes, yes, it is a lead worth following--do you agree, my friend?"

"If only to get out of this damnable cold weather."

Charles nodded.

"Thank you Hank; now please, go get a good night's rest. We have a full house tomorrow."

"Good night Professor. Erik."

He closed the door with a click.

 _I believe our shy friend may be warming up to the business_. Charles shared his memory of his first recruiting meeting with Hank, where the young scientist first laughed at and then ran from their offer of work he could pursue without judgment or fear.

Erik's lip quirked upwards.  _He may be--not that it matters. We are the safest place for him and he knows it_.

"Yes, but I would prefer it if our group was bound by more than fear of the outside."

Holding up a time-sheet, Erik said: "If I read this right, Angel, Sean, and Emma are regularly bound by more than that three times last week."

Charles grinned and said "Ah, I believe you will find that they were the ones doing the binding. Our clients' passion for being laid helpless by strange and beautiful youths grows unabated. Now, 10 more minutes and we will be ready to pay everyone for the week's fine work."

A set of steel marbles floated out of a cup on the desk and began to eddy, clicking with no perceptible rhythm.

"Fine. But then we're planning our trip out West--a week more under this cloudy hell and I will be as pale as an Englishman."

"Yes; after payroll."

The marbles continued to click, as the men bent back over their heaps of paperwork.

XXXXXX

The regulation-height stewardess ducked into the First-Class galley to tug her nylons straight under her sky-blue skirt. She froze, as around the corner she heard:

"Back office: that skin won't pass." The man's voice whispered, voiced brushed gently with a European accent.

"Perhaps; we do have clients who prefer the exotic, but as a first pass, I agree." This one was all British upper-crust. She leaned towards the corner, still hidden behind the blue curtain.

"This one's much too young: how much do we have left in this year's scholarship allotment?" The European began again.

"Enough. I doubt we'll have much trouble bargaining his custody from his parents; when he came out, they threw him out on the street." There was such pain in this voice, and cultured anger.

"They should feel privileged. To make him feel alien was bad enough, but to abandoned their own child;" he ground out "We should--"

"Erik, they are not ready. In another time, we might be a school, a charity, a town, built by and safe for us. We have no other options but to do as we do now, employ those we can find and protect those we cannot by keeping our existence a secret."

Snapping out of her crouch, she hurried to resettle her cap at a jaunty angle andprep the drinks service. Turning to the two men on her right, the whisperers, she listed cigarette and drink prices and configurations. As she talked, she appraised their faces, curious about men who would talk opening about recruiting boys and women for clients. They were startlingly beautiful. Looking more closely, she noticed the smaller man's fingers absently trailed over his companion's knee and sighed.  _Another good one lost to the other team_. She smiled brightly, pad ready for their orders:

The tall, thin man glanced at his friend, silently nodded, and said: "Two bourbons with an ice-cube each. Thank you." He glanced back at his friend, smiled, and pulled out a wallet.

From under a thick roll of hundreds, he pulled out three dollar bills and handed them over to the stewardess who suspicions has just been confirmed. "Thank you."

Shelving her fascination with the pair until her rounds were done, she scurried back to the galley.

_Gay pimps, flying United? Maybe "The Main Line Airway" wasn't so mainline anymore._

Charles chucked, and passed on her broadcasted thoughts to Erik, who shared a small, secret smile. Completely comfortable surrounded by the world's most advanced metal in delicious combinations, Erik still looked forward to their evening of privacy at the Jack Tar. Even with their own cottage on the grounds, their lives revolved around their work at The Mansion. It would be nice to escape the smell of lotion, industrial cleaner, and man-sweat.  _Well, other mens' sweat_.

From the runway, they met a hired car-- _You had better have an expense report for me in the morning_  Erik growled at Charles, who meekly replied  _Is that what they're calling it these days?_ \--which took them to Cathedral Hill and their hotel. Charles wanted to try both the outdoor ice-skating and the indoor heated swimming pool on the same night, but Erik prevailed upon him to spend his enthusiasm within the comfort of their room.

 

XXXXXX

 

The metal bedframe reshaped into its original position about a night of creative tampering, Erik and Charles left for an early lunch at The Empress in Chinatown, where they would meet their prospective recruit. Erik grabbed Charles's arm mid-way through his taxi summoning routine and growled that they could afford to walk the two miles.

Huffing about wasted time, Charles was quickly distracted by the cable cars on Van Ness and the budding Vietnamese community on Hyde. Erik walked tensely, eyes scanning the passers-by for threats. He often wondered whether Charles's gift might have been more valuable to someone willing to use it for his own protection rather than as a sight-seeing aid. Charles wavered towards shops with energetic displays, nearly bouncing when they paused at stoplights, smiling at everyone.

It took Charles half a block to realize Erik had frozen in his tracks, starring across the street.

 _My friend, what is--_  But as Charles followed his gaze and skimmed the minds of its objects, he knew.

Across the street, walking slowly arm-in-arm, were two older men. One fondly whispered into the ear of the other, who guffawed before returning his attention to his feet's slow progress on the gray pavement.

Quieting his mind from the distraction of a new city, Charles sprinted back to Erik, trying to reassure:  _This is not the only place in the world this happens, but it is one of the safest_.

Close enough to touch but holding himself away from Charles, Erik ducked his head. He couldn't find the words but projected a memory:

 _An old couple, sitting next to each other at a table so large it filled all but the edges of their tiny dining room. A family surrounding them, smiling. A loaf of challah on the table and a bowl of thin soup are the only food, but the old man standing at the head of the table leads the Shabbat prayer with a full voice. (Erik's grandparents,_  Charles thought.)  _Finished, the old man sits down, and intertwines his fingers with those of the old woman. Even as she serves each child a half-ladle-full in chipped bowls, he smiled openly, radiating more warmth than their two-coal fire._

Erik's eyes were teary when they broke out of the memory, but when Charles stepped closer to wipe them away, Erik slipped back. Charles froze, and in an instant realized what so bound his friend. Erik knew their relationship was as unacceptable to the world as their mutations, and that just as they hid their powers to keep those weaker than themselves from becoming targets, they would also hide their love. His heart crushing in his chest, Charles said:

_I am never ashamed of who we are, alone or together. Our private commitment requires no public celebration. We will walk together as old men in safety, hiding nothing. That is what we work for. But today, today we are protected and we protect others by our discretion._

Erik nodded, eyes still downcast. With a last glance at the old couple, the two men resumed their stroll, hands hanging next to each other but never touching.

His enthusiasm quieted after their encounter, Charles walked quickly to the lion-arches of Chinatown. But not even the pall of Erik's contemplative silence could darken the wildness that is any afternoon in Chinatown.

Decorations, salutations and expectorations flying through the gusty air. Yelling merchants, jingling heaps of spices, silks, factory-belched and homemade heaped on flimsy wooden tables. Erik's eyes became frantic: not since the old souq in Jerusalem had he been surrounded by such mad capitalism. The crush of people stunned him after the relative quiet of Nob Hill, but when he glanced down at his friend to see how the onslaught was affecting him, he saw a serene smile.

 _Beautiful_  was all Charles gave him, before pushing into the crowd, elbowing and wedging and scampering until Erik grasped his elbow, shoved the smaller man behind him, and began to walk uncompromisingly through the crowd. An old woman with a large shopping basket looked up, saw his stoney face, and quickly made room.

With Erik in the lead, they found the Empress. Seated at a quiet table overlooking the crowded street below, an elegant Asian woman in a simple business suit approached their table.

"I am Mei Li. Mr Smith said you were mutual acquaintances."

She took a seat, sweeping her train of black hair behind her seat-back.

"Yes, in a way," Charles started. "We are in the same business--"

"And what would that be?" Ms Mei asked sharply.

"Discretion and service." Erik answered.

Charles continued, "We provide for those needs our clients express to us. Our business is unique in the freedom and security it offers our employees, and the discretion and satisfaction we provide our clients."

"So you don't sell sex." This was a test--was Ms Mei looking for a confirmation of their discretion, a sign of their honesty, or evidence to get them convicted for promoting prostitution?

Charles took the safe route:

_Yes, it is our business to fulfill sexual fantasies, but our mission is to provide a home for those like us. If you do not wish to sell sex, you may still have a home with us. We provide shelter, training in all that we know and scholarships to acquire what we do not._

Ms. Mei jumped at the first contact of Charles's mind to hers, then leaned in.

"Bu-"

 _You may reply silently by thinking clearly at me_. said Charles.  _This is more discrete and less vulnerable to--Erik_ (Charles turned his head to him)  _Is she wearing a wire?_

Ms. Mei looked startled, glancing at the nearly silent man.

He glanced her up and down clinically and shook his head:  _No._

 _A-And how could you tell, with just a glance?_  Ms Mei seemed to be trying to regain control of the encounter.  _I could be hiding one beneath my--_

"You're not." Erik said aloud. "Charles can communicate telepathically; we hear you have a particular control over . . . water; I like metal." With a flick of his wrist he gently lifted his table knife, floated it between their water glasses, and laid it without a clink on her plate.

 _We offer you a unique position_. Charles leaned in, eyes bright with missionary zeal.  _Safety among your own kind. A home where you don't have to hide. Freedom from fear._

"In a brothel?" She scoffed. "I've been in the life since my first nylons. I've had money, love, some great sex, but I've never found freedom or safety in charnel house."

"We offer you much more than that." Erik was leaning in too, reserve wiped away by the hope that he might save another mutant from a lonely and painful life. "A place of safety, of security, of--" He struggled with the words.

Charles gestured to his temple. "I can show you, if you give me permission to project into your mind."

Ms Mei nodded, closing her eyes:

_Flash._

_Hank, barefoot as always, and Alex carrying two-by-fours for Alex's new stage, laughing._

_Flash._

_Emma reading a book by the fire, her diamond skin glinting gently._

_Flash._

_Angel twirling and flying in the mountain air, made invisible to hikers below by Charles's telepathy._

_Flash._

_Raven, blue skin radiant, modeling a vinyl mini-dress for Sean._

_Flash._

_Erik and Charles playing chess together by a roaring fire, discussion silent and Erik's metal pieces floating quietly._

_Flash._

Ms Mei gasped, overwhelmed by the sanctuary pouring from the projection. She shook herself, regaining control, eyes now open and bright with a hint of hope. The nervous eddies which had begun in their glasses of water stilled slowly, the tablecloth only a little wet.

"We can find a place for you, in our business or outside of it." Charles said. He stared at her, willing her to hear him: "Whether you return with us or not, you must know: you are not alone. If you need us, we are here."

Erik nodded. Both men waited, knowing that even the most adaptable person would need a few moments to process that display. Erik's hand dropped below the level of the table, found Charles's knee, and squeeze gently. Gazing down at the hustling technicolored street below, he whispered in his friend's mind:

_One day we will walk together without fear. Unashamed, unabashed, unafraid. Together._

Charles glanced up from the crowd, into his friend's intense face.

_Yes. We will build our world into an open one. Together._


End file.
